Want What We Can't Have
by livelikeurdead
Summary: Detective Lance should not want a perp. Especially one who he has been focused on hunting. Definitely not one who murders and shoots arrows. Certainly not one who slams him up against his own car. And yet, he wants and loves The Hood. Quiver SLASH Rated M to be Safe


Author's Note: Love this pairing! It's my first slash so go easy on me. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING! Characters are not mine, they are from the show Arrow.

I, Detective Quentin Lance, downed my second coffee of the hour and mentally refocused on the case file in my hand. 16 straight ours of trying to get any leads on this menus to society and coming up blank time and time again was driving me crazy. It wouldn't be the first time the murderer tested my sanity either with his good damn arrows that lead nowhere and blood stain that gets "misplaced". Yeah right.

Looking around the precinct I realize it's already two in the morning, so reluctantly I decide to finally give it a rest for the night. I arrive at my car and fumble for my keys while holding my coffee and briefcase, when suddenly I'm slammed against my own car door with a body on top of me. Instantly I know who it is and I'm furious. 16 hours looking and he suddenly shows up and man handles me. I give it all I've got reaching for my gun, only to find it suddenly absent. That bastard. Another white flame of rage licks at me and I struggle, kicking and thrashing for release, when I find myself handcuffed. With my own cuffs.

"What do you want?" I growl out trying to not implode in anger.

"David Aguilad stole 40 million from low income families 20 years ago, and he is in the process of doing it a second time. He was also the center of the pot outbreak two years ago, but his contacts kept him out of jail and clean."

"A bit like you then, ah? What happened to your blood sample we sent to forensics?"

Still fuming, I jerk my leg back and try to trip him off his feet, but, like always, he is too fast. His weight that was slightly above me before, now slammed into me pushing me flush against the cold metal of the car with zero room to move. A single needy moan filled the silent air, and a second later I realized it came from me. I'm flooded with disgust and self-hatred at the thought of being aroused by this murderer, but I can't keep a desperate whimper from escaping when he pushes his body onto mine even closer and more firmly.

Silence hung in the tense air of the parking lot for what seemed like forever before his computerized voice whispered, "Storage Shed 2024. You'll find all the evidence you need there."

And then he's gone.

Taking a minute to regain my bearings, it hits me what just happened. Damn it! Why him?! I growl and kick the side of my car. I'm aroused by the hood, my second least favorite person on the planet, only beaten out for first by Oliver Queen. Both of them make top two because of their similar, infuriating ways of pissing me off and getting heat to pool in my lower stomach.

As I move to get into my car and drive home I realize two things. First, I had a raging hard on. Second, that bastard left me handcuffed.

A week after the incident, as I pleasantly refer to it as, I find myself in a similar situation. Jammed between a storage shed and the familiar muscled body of the hood.

I had followed the hood's instructions, hesitantly of course, and found myself, along with a backup police squad, at storage shed 2024. It was almost dark out, and I wanted to get this bust over and done with, provided the hood's information wasn't a load of crap like I originally suspected.

At just the thought of the hood, I felt my penis twitch in interest and swell in my pants. Not this again. It had been happening for the past week, and to be completely honest even before that. However, the dreams of the hood's touch and amount of jerking off I did to the thought of the murder was rapidly increasing. Now I was walking into a potentially dangerous situation with another hard on.

Taking a deep breath and willing my erection away, I gave the ready sign to the officers behind me. With that, we opened the door and barged in screaming, "SPD!" The scene that greeted us was a group of twenty or so men with semi-automatic weapons processing marihuana. Suffice to say, they did not react well.

The following minutes were a blur of shots fired and screaming, and it quickly became obvious that we were on the losing side. 12 officers with one round shot guns verse 20 semi-automatics was a no brainer. I was down to one bullet and the fellow officers around me were running low as well. Rising my voice I screamed, "Retreat! Back out and someone call for backup!"

As the officers followed my orders, a rooky named Dan O'Conner screamed, "Back up on its way, sir!" Just as he finished that sentence a bullet hit him in the leg. Nobody else noticed, and I realized that everyone else had already evacuated. Dan and I were the only ones left. It hit me then that it was up to me to get Dan to safety until backup arrived, which I estimated would take another ten minutes.

I made a crouched, mad dash towards Dan, and dragged him behind the safety of crate full of pot. Series of bullets followed right on my toes, and it was then I realized there was no way that with one bullet I could survive ten minutes.

For the first time in a police investigation, I found myself hoping for the Hood to show up.


End file.
